“I vow, Bili, were it not for a few good and faithful customers in the Middle Kingdoms and the Black Kingdoms, my family and I would be starving and in rags!”
Bili was nobody’s fool. His mission here was to win the support of the aging Komees. What better way than to offer his help in furtherance of the old nobleman’s ambition for his bastard? It was certain to be more effective than the simple choice and purchase of a horse he really did not need.
Besides, he had liked the officer and he genuinely admired him and his accomplishments. A Keeleechstos, leader of three thousand men in the Middle Kingdom, his rank would be colonel just might have attained to that rank through the skillful greasing of selected palms. But in the Army of the Confederation it was well known that Strahteegoee were chosen strictly upon the grounds of ability; too, there was that Golden Cat. While thousands of Red Cats and hundreds of Silver Cats had been awarded during the century since the establishment of the orders, less than fivescore men, all told, had ever won the right to a golden one, of any class.
“Lord Hari,” he began.
“Now stop that, Bili!” admonished his host. “You’ve clearly been too long away from home, among those stiffnecked northerners. We of the Kindred call each other by name, reserving formality for superiors, strangers, and known enemies. I’m Hari and my son is Vaskos.”
“All right, Hari,” Bili started over. “I’ll be candid. I want something of you, and you want something of Council. Pledge me support in my aims, and I, in turn, will pledge you my support and my best efforts at gaining the support of others in attaining your aspiration for Vaskos.”
And so, we sing a proud song,
Of Pitzburk, where the siege was long,
Of Pitzburk, where our rivers ran with blood.
The last note died. Klairuhnz, the traveling bard, lowered his instrument and slowly bowed.
Bili’s fingers sought his purse and selected a silver thrahkmeh. The singer deserved it, for he had certainly rendered an excellent performance, what with ancient tellingsongs of the exploits of Morguhn and Daiviz chiefs and clansmen now hundreds of years dead; a couple of Ehleen loveballads which had even brought a few brief smiles to the jowly, perpetually frowning face of the Lady Hehrah, Lord Hari’s short, immensely fat wife; a Freefighter song, much laundered, which nonetheless had every man in the room roaring, since the words replacing the bawdy ones did not rhyme, making the original lyrics easy to guess; and ending with the famous Song of Pride, a venerable favorite in the Middle Kingdoms, though not so well known this far south.
Allowing his host and Vaskos to throw their coins first, Bili then tossed his thrahkmeh. The bard caught the three silver pieces in flight, juggled them for a few moments, then lined them on his open left palm. Closing that hand, he made a gesture or two above it with his right hand and, when he reopened the left, all three coins were gone.
The two youngest of Lord Hari’s three daughters oohed and ahhed theur amazement, but the older, Eeyohahnah, never changed expression, since she did not see the sleight-of-hand. Her dark, brooding, slightly slanted eyes had never left Bili since first they were introduced; they had followed his every movement or gesture throughout the dinner. However, on each of the several occasions he had attempted to meet her stare, she had looked down with a show of modesty and the barest flicker of a sly smile. Her activities were beginning to irk Bili, but it would be undignified and most impolitic to allow his discomfiture to become noticeable.
Bili was far from a novice in the ways of women. Since first his voice had deepened and his shoulders commenced to broaden, women and girls had made no secret of the fact that they found him handsome to look upon. He had been but fourteen when be had pleasurably spent his virginity within the young widow of the Earl of Dawfuhnburk, then living at King Gilbuht’s court. After her, he had tumbled countless serving girls and had paid court to and bedded other idle noblewomen.